Good Girls
by B.A. Tyler
Summary: It's early 1969 and Erin Hunnicutt, who's away at college, finds herself in a difficult situation. Fortunately, she knows just who to call.


**Good Girls**

The first thing Margaret heard when she picked up the phone and said, "Hello?" was sniffling, and immediately she was on alert. Mentally bracing herself, she held the receiver a little tighter. Sometimes phone calls bring bad news, and the sound of someone in distress on the other end—even when you didn't yet know who that someone was—surely didn't bode well.

"Margaret?" came the small, still unidentifiable—but clearly female—voice.

"Yes?" Her brain was racing, trying to figure out who this could be. "This is Margaret Houlihan—"

"Margaret, hi, this is Erin Hunnicutt."

_Oh God,_ Margaret thought frantically, _has something happened to B.J.? _ "Erin! Honey, what's wrong? Is your dad all right?"

There was a pause, another sniffle, then something that sounded like a small laugh. "Oh geez, I'm sorry, Margaret. Of course you would think that. I call you out of the blue, sounding obviously upset, and of course you'd think it was something to do with my dad. No, no… he's fine. Mom's fine. It isn't—the family's fine." Another chuckle. "Sorry to alarm you."

"Are _you _OK, though?" Margaret asked, even as she relaxed her shoulders and felt her heart rate returning to normal. "You sound upset, all right."

She heard Erin take a shaky breath. "Oh Margaret, I hope you don't mind that I called you. You were the first person I thought of. There's no way I could talk to my mom or dad—I hope I don't have to tell them—I mean, I can talk to them about almost anything, but this… I don't know. This is too…"

"Honey, you're starting to scare me," Margaret interrupted. Her mind was jumbled, trying to make heads or tails of this conversation. "Are you all right physically? Are you hurt, or… something like that?" She wasn't going to say it out loud, but what she was thinking, for some crazy reason, was that Erin had gotten pregnant. And that she was calling to talk about options.

She prayed her imagination was just running wild on her.

"I'm not sick or hurt, not physically," Erin assured her. "It's… it's this _situation_ I'm in." The way she said _situation_… drawing it out… as if uncertain what other word to use.

"OK," Margaret said slowly, pieces starting to come together in her mind. A bit of a problem at school, apparently. Erin was in her freshman year at USC, Margaret knew that much even though she didn't hear from B.J. or his family as often as she'd like. There'd been a letter at Christmas, proudly announcing Erin's 3.5 GPA at the end of her first semester. "I'll help if I can, honey. Just tell me what's going on. Take your time."

Perhaps Margaret's soothing, bedside-manner voice was working. Erin seemed to be getting her emotions under control and her voice had more volume when she replied, "OK, well, bear with me here. Mom and Dad don't know this, but I've been having trouble in my Economics class. College has been fairly easy for me so far, but this class—it's… my brain doesn't want to grasp it. I've been trying, but my grade was falling anyway, and I figured I should ask the professor what I could do. Maybe extra-credit, or maybe he could recommend a tutor or something."

"Sounds very sensible," Margaret prompted.

Erin took a moment to blow her nose, then continued, "So I went to his office today after class and I, you know—told him exactly that. Told him I wanted to pick up my grade and was there anything I could do?" She stopped suddenly, and Margaret began to feel the hair on the back of her neck prickling. _Oh Lord, don't tell me…_

"It's all right, Erin. Take as long as you need."

"Well…" There was a long pause, and Margaret forced herself to stay quiet, wait the girl out. She would get the words out in her own time. Finally, the somewhat disbelieving voice started again, "Well, he got up from his desk and he went and shut the office door, and I was thinking, what could be the big secret, you know? Then he came up close to me, and he said there was probably something we could work out, some way of getting my grade up, and—geez, I'm so dense—I didn't get it. I mean, I thought he was about to say something about extra-credit. I'm really dumb…"

"No," Margaret said, her voice firm. "You're not dumb."

"He… oh, Margaret, he made a pass at me. It's so embarrassing, I didn't even know what he was driving at until he actually said it. He said that he liked the sweater I was wearing and he kind of… looked me up and down. I couldn't believe what was happening! I hugged my books to my chest, I got really self-conscious. And then he said if I wanted a better grade, I should go back to his place with him. His apartment, do you believe it? He called it cozy." Erin was no longer holding back tears; now she sounded downright furious, and rightfully so.

"Good God," Margaret said, and in her agitation, started pacing her kitchen as she gripped the phone tightly. She was appalled, but she somehow wasn't surprised. Erin—though the girl might not see herself this way—was almost model-like in appearance. She'd taken after her dad in the height department rather than her petite mother, and she'd shot up to 5-foot-9. She was enviably thin without even trying. And she was… well, there was no other way to put it, she was busty. Most certainly a D-cup. Margaret could just picture the asshole professor leering at her. The 1960s may be the decade of free love, but not for the innocent Erin Hunnicutts of the world. If college professors had decided it was acceptable to sexually harass students in these lenient times, then the sexual revolution had gone too far. "What did you—how did you react?"

"I was stunned."

"I can imagine."

"For a second I just stood there like a dope. Then I said something—I think it was something ridiculous, like 'Thanks, but I can't,' as if it was something I might consider another time! God…"

Margaret could practically hear the poor girl shuddering. "Erin, it's OK."

"I don't remember what else I might've said. I got out of the office as quickly as I could, but I didn't want to make him mad. My grade's bad enough. I didn't know what to…" There was a pause, then, "I came back to the dorm and after I had a long cry, I tried to figure out who to call. I couldn't tell my parents. Then I thought of you. My dad always said you never took shit from anyone. I… had to talk to somebody, you know?"

"I'm very glad you called me, Erin. You can talk to me about _anything_. And I'm sure you could talk to your folks about this, too. It might be difficult at first, but I really think you should tell them."

"Oh no… I can't…"

Margaret decided not to press that issue. One thing at a time, here. And the important thing was helping Erin deal with the asshole professor. "OK, I understand, honey. Maybe you and I can handle this and your parents can stay blissfully ignorant."

She had a feeling Erin was nodding vigorously. "Yes, please. I only wish… I can't imagine having to go back to that man's class, or what he's going to say next time he sees me… I just don't know what I'm going to do."

Margaret slipped back into her firm voice: "You're going to go to the dean and report this asshole, that's what you're going to do."

Erin had clearly been contemplating that idea. "But… who's he going to believe? This esteemed professor who's been here for 11 years or some young female student he's never met before? He probably won't even listen to me."

"I think he will. But if he doesn't, you call me again, and I'll personally come out there and kick some ass."

It seemed like it was exactly the right thing to say. There was another pause, but Margaret could feel the difference in the silence. Erin was smiling, she was sure of it. And she believed Erin was also gaining confidence. Feeding off Margaret's conviction. At least that's what Margaret hoped she was doing—sending encouragement and strength and self-confidence right through the phone line.

"Erin?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"You'll do it, right? You'll go see the dean."

"OK, yes. I'll go talk to the dean."

Margaret heard a tinge of apprehension in Erin's voice, but she believed the girl would follow through. She stopped pacing, very tired all of a sudden. Hearing salacious stories about contemptible college professors tended to do that to her. "Good."

A sigh, as Erin seemed relieved to finally have a game plan after all her crying and worrying and struggling. "I don't know how you can be so strong," she remarked.

And Margaret smiled at that. "Sure you can. You're strong too."

"No—"

"Yes, you are. You called me for a reason, and not just because you needed someone to talk to. You knew that I'd tell you to go after this bastard. You were already thinking in that direction, you just needed a little push to get moving. You're like your dad, Erin… you've got integrity and honor running through your veins. Remember, there's nothing more empowering than having the truth on your side." Margaret made a conscious effort to soften her voice, saying, "That's how I know you're going to get through this just fine. You're in the right. That jerk of a professor will get what's coming to him, and you'll get to hold your head high."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Erin laughed a little then, and it sounded good. The tears were apparently long gone now. "Thank you, Margaret. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."

"Hey listen. Anytime you need me, call. You understand? And call me back after you've talked to the dean. Tell me everything. I want to know what happens."

"Yes, absolutely. I will."

Margaret smiled. "All right, then. I'll be thinking about you. Sending good thoughts your way."

"Can never have enough of those. I'll talk to you soon, Margaret. Thanks again."

After she hung up the phone, Margaret leaned against the wall and shut her eyes, pensive. "OK," she murmured with a nod of her head. "OK."

She poured herself a glass of wine and took it into her living room, plopping down on the couch and putting her feet up. The kid was going to be fine, she could feel it. Replaying the conversation, she felt like she had said the right words, had offered the best advice, had given unflinching support.

Margaret may have been alone in her house, but she raised her glass in a toast. "Here's to the good girls," she said softly. "You get him, Erin."


End file.
